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Every morning Tashi Tshering fumigates the whole quarters with juniper (or maybe cedar) embers.
I spent early morning proofreading Wanchuk's blog. He writes quickly and with ease; his words just flow fluently, whereas for me writing takes a significant effort. When I was reading his notes it occurred to me that his blog's narrator was a bit more sanguine and happy-go-lucky than the complex individual I knew. Perhaps, this is true for all authors, even for those who try to express themselves most genuinely: we can never capture the full extent of our inner intricacies and contradictions, nor should we burden the reader with them unless this is our goal. The situation is somewhat similar to that of the so-called “lyrical hero” (or persona) of fiction writer whose narrative “I” is different from his/her real self. Of course, the fiction writer employs such a literary device consciously, while the blogger may or may not deliberately cultivate the difference between the persona of the blog's narrator on the one hand, and its actual author on the other. I am not sure how successful I was in trying to verbalize this line of thinking to Wanchuk because his reaction was, “Are you saying my online persona is fake?”
Wonderful breakfast of boiled eggs right from under the hen, puffed rice, and zhero (a lacy flour thing) soaked in tea.
Went back to my room and remedied my bad mood by listening to Bach's Passacaglia BWV 582 (Helmut Walcha). I'm rather certain that was the first time the organ oeuvre of the great German resounded through the peaceful hills of Kewzing. I am disgusted with myself: it is childish to subject my friend to the vagaries of my mood and to what amounts to passive-aggressive behavior.
We set out for the nearby town of Ravangla. On our way to the taxi stand I was trying to explain to Wanchuk how a pipe organ works, the basic principles of Baroque music forms, such as Passacaglia and Fugue, and the artistic freedom afforded to the interpreter by the fact that the composers at that time didn't specify the organ registers and, nor, for instrumental pieces, sometimes even the musical instrument(s) to be used. To top this off, I also briefly commented on the sonata form (main and secondary themes, their interaction, development, recapitulation, etc.) My poor friend: I'm sure it was quite impossible to absorb all that stuff in 10 min, especially without any examples. A couple of points I wanted to get across were that pop music doesn't interest me because there is (1) not much music development (it's static), and (2) no leeway for interpretation, since a music piece is usually performed by the same artist/group, as opposed to the classical music where each performer has their own take on it.
Ravangla is a pretty much non-descript town. A supposed tourist attraction is a Sunday market (that's why we went there on Sunday) but there was nothing special about it except for the sign advertising different tariffs for using the toilet for the “short” and “long” business.
Another reason for our trip to Ravangla was to find an Internet shop and to finally upload our blogs but…no such luck: the only Internet place in town didn't have a connection. Reportedly, it's possible to use the Internet at a government office nearby but today is Sunday, and it's closed. Called mom in Israel from an ISD booth and talked for a pretty long time; unlike the Internet, the phone connection was crystal-clear. Mom was happy.
We visited the eldest sister of Wanchuk's mom (she served excellent zheros!)
and then had a lunch at her daughter's restaurant at the Center Hotel (tasty beef momos and a wonderful soup/broth with cilantro). Wanchuk tried to reach Sangmoo to find out the details of our Goecha La track but her cell phone was switched off.
We took a taxi back. A taxi looks like a stretched jeep with three benches, each sitting four people—if they are small. Wanchuk struck a conversation with one of the monks in a taxi. The lamas looked familiar, and surely enough, they were from the Bon monastery we had visited a couple of days before for the funeral of their head lama. I wanted to stop by the monastery again in hopes that someone there might comment upon the origin and nature of Bon. The monk Wanchuk spoke with ushered us in to the same room where we had Tibetan-style tea the morning we arrived; there, a lama was taking a nap. The lama, who introduced himself as Tempa Tenzing, said he could provide an explanation I was looking for. A young novice brought three cups of delicious yoghurt, and while drinking, I took a closer look at the photos on the wall: last time there were so many people in the room that I didn't have a chance to inspect them. The largest photo depicted a 1956 symposium on Buddhist philosophy and literature in Delhi, with Jawaharlal Nehru and then young Dalai Lama in the center; there were a few scholars from the USSR. Other old pictures depicted the last chogyal, the family of his first (Sikkemese) wife, and an ascetic looking yogi. A relatively new color photo showed prince Palden surrounded by monks; I recalled that I saw him in New Jersey at the first Losoong celebration Wanchuk put together last year.
Lama Tenzing is Tibetan; he spoke Nepali, the lingua franca of Sikkim, and that, I felt, turned Wanchuk off somewhat. Nevertheless, he translated for me what the lama was saying. Instead of illuminating the differences between the Bon and other schools of Buddhism he emphasized the unity of all the branches. I was a bit disappointed with the generality of his answers but, to think better of it, I can always find out about the particularities of Bon in the literature; perhaps, the point he was trying to make was not to hang up on the differences too much. As he said, anyone can start a new Buddhist sect at any moment but the dharma still remains the same for all.
I then asked where I could make a donation, and he led me to the temple. Afterwards, he placed a khada on my neck. I wanted to see the burning grounds but didn't go, for two reasons: first, the lama said that tomorrow they would go there to collect the ashes, and at that time they would try to read the signs to determine who the next head lama might possibly be; second, I felt that Wanchuk was starting to get bored with the whole monastery thing. As I mentioned , on the day of the funeral I saw an eagle flying high in the sky. The lama said there were four eagles that day: two flew toward Tibet while the other two flew in the direction of the nearby Ralong gompa, and that was a good sign. I find it somewhat surprising that interpretation of various signs seems to play such a big role in Tibetan Buddhism.
Rather than waiting for a taxi, we walked to Kewzing. On our way we passed a military camp.
We bought some instant noodles and biscuits for Tashi Tshering and Ramesh and for the family of Kunti and Maya Wanchuk wanted to visit. Kunti and Maya are sisters living with Wanchuk's parents and helping with housework. Their father was a construction worker; he became ill and died some time ago. Their mother remarried, and she now has four boys. She is a Bihari, and her husband seems to be a Sherpa. The family is poor, but rather than giving them money Wanchuk gave each boy a pack of noodles and biscuits. Each has a very distinct character, and one of them, Som Tshering, is extremely photogenic. Wanchuk talked to the parents and admonished the mother not to have more children; I am not sure how successful he will be in his efforts but at least he, like his mother, tries to do some good. According to him, the family practically begged Pem-la to take Kunti and Maya to Gangtok, to give them some work in the house, and to have them educated. She did, even though she doesn't really need helpers now, when both Wanchuk and his sister no longer live at home. A thought crossed my mind that since this mother has managed to have her girls educated then maybe there is a future for the boys as well. They seem very lively and bright, and it would be a shame if there were no hope for them.
Back home Agya Chemi cooked a dinner himself, since his Aiela Sangay Doma had gone to Gangtok to take care of their daughter. He is a great cook indeed! Check Wanchuk's blog for the description of the food. The neighbors/relatives stopped by, and we spent the evening showing them the photos on our Macs and having a conversation (well, I should say, “me listening”) over a couple of rounds of tasty say chan. We made a sound recording of the conversation.
Check out Wanchuk's blog entry for the same day.
1 comments:
ya kewzing is heaven....loved your photos....and ya Agya Chemi is a great cook.....
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